

Till Three PI 



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DICK & FITZGERALD, Publishers, 
NEW YORK. 







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LESSON IN ELEGANCE. 1 Act; 30 minutes 4 

MAIDENS ALL FORLORN. 3 Acts; 1 14 hours 6 

MURDER WILL OUT. 1 Act; 30 minutes 6 

ROMANCE OF PHYLLIS. 3 Acts; 1 34 hours 4 

SOCIAL. ASPIRATIONS. 1 Act; 45 minutes 5 

OUTWITTED. 1 Act; 20 minutes 3 

WHITE DOVE OF ONEIDA. 2 Acts; 45 minutes 4 

SWEET FAMILY. 1 Act; 1 hour 3 

BELLES OF BLACKYILLE. 1 Act; 2 hours 30 

PRINCESS KIKU. (25 cents) 13 

RAINBOW KIMON A. (25 cents.) 2 Acts; \\& hours 9 

MERRY OLD MAIDS. (25 cents.) Motion Song 11 



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APRIL. FOOLS. 1 Act; 30 minutes 3 

BYRD AND HURD. 1 Act; 40 minutes 6 

DARKEY WOOD DEALER. 1 Act; 20 minutes 3 

WANTED, A MAHATMA. 1 Act; 30 minutes 4 

HOLY TERROR. 1 Act; 30 minutes 4 

MANAGER'S TRIALS. 1 Act; 1 hour 9 

MEDICA. 1 Act; 35 minutes 7 

NIGGER NIGHT SCHOOL. 1 Act; 30 minutes 6 

SLIM JIM AND THE HOODOO. 1 Act; 30 minutes 5 

WANTED. A CONFIDENTIAL CLERK. 1 Act; 30 minutes 6 

SNOBSON'S STAG PARTY. 1 Act; 1 hour 12 

PICKL.ES AND TICKLES. 1 Act; 20 minutes 6 

HARVEST STORM. 1 Act; 40 minutes 10 

CASE OF HERR BAR ROOMSKI. Mock Trial; 2 hours.... 28 

DARKEY BREACH OF PROMISE CASE. Mock Trial. 22 

GREAT LIBELi CASE. Mock Trial; 1 Scene; 2 hours 21 

RIDING THE GOAT. Burlesque Initiation; 1 Scene; 1^ hours 24 

DICK & FITZGERALD, Publishers, 18 Ann Street, NY. 




TILL THREE P.M. 



A 3ffar« in <©tt* Art 



By MARVIN HADLEY 



Copyright 1915 by Dick & Fitzgerald 



«? 



NEW YORK 
DICK & FITZGERALD 

18 Ann Street 



TILL 3 P.M. 



CHARACTERS 

Henby Van deb Webken A wealthy young man 

Jack Spenceb His friend 

Gbace Allison An heiress 

Time. — The present. Locality. — New York City. 

Time of Plating. — About twenty minutes. 
COSTUMES 
Modern and appropriate to characters portrayed. 

INCIDENTAL PROPERTIES 

Pipe, writing material, smoking jacket, large gloves and 
watch for Henby. Watch for Jack. 

STAGE DIRECTIONS 

As seen by a performer on the stage facing the audience, b. 
means right hand ; l., left hand ; c, center of stage ; d. b., door 
at right; d. e. c, door at right of center. Up means toward 
back of stage; Down, toward footlights. 



*MP96-007083 



MAY 13 1915 

©CLD 40634 



TILL 3 P.M. 



SCENE. — A very well furnished room in Mr. Van der Werken's 
apartment in New York. An afternoon in August. Doors 
r. and r. c. Window l. The hangings, rugs, etc., are all 
of fine quality, as is also the furniture, which consists of a 
settee ivith sofa pillows down r. c, a writing table on which 
there are writing materials, newspapers, and box of cigars 
up l., chair in back of writing table. Easy-chair down l. 
Small table on which there are many photos up r. Fire- 
place at rear, with chair l. of it, but these are concealed 
by a large Japanese screen. A small camera on a tripod 
stands down r. with cloth thrown over it. DISCOVERED 
Henry, in shirt sleeves, with a bandage about his head, 
seated behind writing table. He is smoking a pipe and 
writing a letter. Door bell rings long and loudly. 

Henry (looks up with a froivn. Bell rings again). Con- 
found it! (Gets up. Bell continues to ring. Opens d. r. c, 
bell ceases to ring) Oh, hello, Spencer! What are you trying 
to do? Run the juice out of the battery? 

ENTER Jack Spencer, d. r. c. 

Jack. Hello, you poor nut ! What's the idea of the bandage? 
(Goes down c.) 

Henry (goes back to seat behind table). Got a headache. 
How'd you know I was in town? (Starts in to icrite) 

Jack. Didn't know. Just thought you might be, so took 
a chance. So you have the headache too. Ha ! Such is life ! 
Everybody has the headache nowadays. This morning my dog 
came to me complaining of a headache. I told him to take a 
bromo. Then my pet pony 

Henry. Shut up, will you? 



4 Till 3 P.M. 

Jack. What's up that you're shoving the quill so fast? 

Henry. Got an important letter to write, and would rather 
not be disturbed. 

Jack. Not very amiable, eh? (After placing his hat and 
gloves on a chair, ivalks toward Henry, helps himself to a cigar 
from a box on the writing table, lights cigar and taking up 
paper goes r. to settee) 

Henry (irritably). Why in thunder don't you sit down? 

Jack. Just what I was going to do. (Sits on settee, stares 
at his paper, suddenly puts it down) By the way, I suppose you 
haven't forgotten that little wager we made a few months ago. 
I've come to collect the thousand. 

Henry. The time isn't up yet. 

Jack. It's up to-day at 3 o'cock. (Takes out his watch) 
It's just half past two now. Nearly up, eh? 

Henry. Spencer, you're a blackguard. I won't pay up till 
three o'clock; that's flat. (Strikes desk with his fist) 

Jack (smoking easily). Oh, sure, sure; that's all right; 
take your time. I'll just loaf around here for half an hour, 
have a little social chat with you and then for the " cush." 

Henry. You won't find me very amiable. 

Jack (icalks l., sits in chair). Oh, well, don't put yourself 
out. By the way, I hear the most beautiful, pretty, elegant, 
exquisite, young lady left for California this morning with her 
mother. (Yawns) It's like taking the baby from the candy. 

Henry (gets up; goes down a). Now, see here, Jack. I 
know I was a fool, but I am not a quitter. I am strong on 
hunches, and I've a pretty big hunch now that I am going to 
win that wager. (Goes r. to camera) 

Jack. Excuse me if I don't take any stock in your hunches. 
(Rises) What's the idea of the camera? 

Henry. It's all ready for her. 

Jack. For her? I don't get you. 

Henry. Well, I might as well own up. After I made that 
fool bet with you, which provided that I was to win the hand 
of Miss Allison as a plain, ordinary individual, much below 
her in social rank, I tried every way I could to get acquainted 
with her, as an ordinary individual. I was balked all along 
the line. Then I hit upon a great scheme. I had some business 
cards printed, with plain H. Werken, Photographer, and with 
my real New York address. I managed to have her maid slip 
her one of the cards. Her answer was that she might arrange 
for a sitting if she needed some photos. That's as far as I got. 

Jack. Bright head; bright head! (Strokes Henry's head) 



Till 3 P.M. 5 

Henry (irritably). Don't do that; don't do that. You in- 
terrupt my train of thought. Where was I? Oh, yes. Two 
days ago Grace and her mother suddenly left Atlantic City 
for New York. I followed in their wake, but although I have 
searched the registers of all the hotels in New York, I have 
found no trace of her, my beautiful Grace. 

Jack. Feel bad? 

Henry. Not a bit. Something tells me here, (Hand on heart) 
that I shall win out. 

Jack. Another hunch, eh? Takes it from me, that heart is 
unreliable. Why don't you sue it for misrepresentation and let 
me take the case? 

Henry. You make me sick. (Goes back to writing table) 

Jack. Oh, well — (Looks at watch) It's twenty minutes to 
three. You might draw that check for the thousand now and 
sign it at 3 o'clock. It will save time. 

Henry. I won't do it. I won't give up. Man, you don't 
know what this means to me! I can't live without her. Try 
as I will to put her out of my mind, her lovely face always 
comes before me as a vision. 

Jack. I should worry. (Telephone bell rings) What's that? 

Henry. It's my phone. That's funny ; no one knows I am in 
town. By Jove! my hunch. I'll bet it's Grace trying to ar- 
range for a sitting. 

Jack. And 111 bet it's your tailor dunning you for his bill. 

Henry (picks up phone). Hello! — Yes, this is Mr. Werken. 
(To Jack) It's her voice. (At phone) Who is it, please? — 
Miss Allison? (Looks triumphantly at Jack, who scowls) I 
don't think I know the name. Have you an appointment with 
me? 

Jack. For the love of Mike, what nerve ! 

Henry (at phone). Oh, yes, of course, the card I sent you 
at Atlantic City. Surely, surely, I remember now. Yes, I have 
a few minutes to spare. (Jack takes out his watch) I think 
I can take it in that tima 

Jack. It's fifteen minutes to three. (Jack laughs) 

Henry (to Jack). Shut up, you big chump. (At phone) 
Oh, a thousand pardons! I was addressing my dog. He's an 
ill-mannered brute. (Jack throws a sofa pillow at Henry 
and knocks phone from table. To Jack) Say, if you do that 
again, I'll biff you one. (Picking up phone) I must apologize 
again. My dog just jumped on the table and knocked the 
phone off — that's a bad trick he has. I'm very sorry, but — ■ 
where are you, please? Oh, in the ante-room? Will you come 



6 Till 3 P.M. 

right up? Thank you. (Hangs up receiver. To Jack) Now 
then, you clear out. 

Jack (grins). Oh, I thought I would hang around and see 
the fun. 

Henry. Nothing doing! Nothing doing! Get out. (Seizes 
him by the collar) 

Jack (freeing himself). See here, all's fair in love and 
war, and this is a little of both. If you win that bet, I'm going 
to see you do it. 

Henry. I'll tell you about it afterwards. 

Jack. No, siree! 

Henry. But, man, I can't propose to her with you in the 
room. 

Jack. Suppose I get behind the screen? 

Henry (impatiently). Nonsense! Er — I'll tell you what. Go 
into the next room if you must hang around. 

Jack. Nope! It's either behind the screen or here. (Flops 
down into a chair r.) 

Henry. You're an obstinate devil; but, believe me, you 
are going to get out of here quick. 

Henry. You'll see. (Jack rises and goes l., smiling. EXIT 
Henry d. r. and immediately RE-ENTERS with two revolvers) 
Now then 

Jack. Holy smoke! (Runs behind screen) 

Grace Allison (off stage). Thank you, I'll go right in. 

ENTER Miss Allison d. r. c. 

Henry (in dismay f putting his hands behind him so as to 
hide the revolvers). Er — how do you do, Miss Allison? 

Grace. Good afternoon, Mr. Werken. (Advances to him 
and holds out her hand) 

Henry (hands behind him). Er — You will excuse me if I 
don't shake hands. My hands were badly scalded a little 
while ago and, er — they pain quite a lot, you see. 

Grace. Oh, I am so sorry. Isn't there something I can do? 

Henry. Oh, no ; I 

Grace. Perhaps it won't be convenient for you to take my 
photograph to-day. 

Henry. Oh, that's all right. I'll put a bandage on my 
hands, and they will be all right. (Backs toioard D. R. all 
the time) I — I shan't be a minute. Please be seated. (EXIT 
backward d. b. Grace goes to table r., looks at two or three 



Till 3 P.M. 7 

photos, and then walks slowly l. with one of them in her 
hand. Jack peeps over the screen at her, and then suddenly 
ducks down as if fearful she will see him. Henry ENTERS d. b. 
Has removed bandage from head. Has on smoking jacket and 
pair of large gloves. Jack bobs up again, and Henry franti- 
cally motions him to get down. Jack ducks down again) Now, 
Miss Allison, I am quite at your service. 

Grace. And how are the poor hands? 

Henry. Better, thank you. 

Grace. How did such a terrible accident happen? 

Henry. What accident? 

Grace. Why, your scalded hands. 

Henry. Oh, yes, to be sure. Why, you see it was this way. 
I was developing some plates when suddenly one of the bottles 
of chemicals exploded — puff ! bang ! 

Jack (behind screen}. Puff! bang! 

Grace (startled). What was that? 

Henry. Er — what? 

Grace. That noise — puff! bang! 

Henry. Oh, that was only the., echo. 

Grace. I never heard an echo in a room before. 

Henry. That's because you have never been in this room 
before. Try it yourself. 

Grace. Puff ! bang ! (Jack remains silent) I heard no echo. 

Henry. It doesn't always work. Er — do you like that photo 
you have there? 

Grace. Yes, indeed. 

Henry. I am sorry, but I have only about fifteen minutes to 
finish my work in. (Looks at watch) I — I am a very busy 
man, you see. Er — what style of photo would you prefer? 

Grace. I should much prefer to follow your advice. 

Henry. Yes, yes, of course; they all do. (Looks at her ad- 
miringly) Due regard must be paid to your figure, which is 
matchless in its contours; I must reproduce the noble and 
classic outlines of your profile; that bewitching smile on your 
lips, the enchanting glance of your beautiful eyes; the 

Jack (behind screen). Mush, mush, mush! 

Grace (quickly). What was that? 

Henry. Oh, that must be Dago John, a pedler who comes 
around here every day about this time. He sells musk mel- 
ons. He says — " Musha-da-mel, musha-da-mel." He's what I 
call a nuisance. (Goes to window, calls) Nothing to-day. Go 
on. 

Grace. But the sound seemed nearer than outside. 



8 Till 3 P.M. 

Henry. That fellow has an enormous voice. Thank good- 
ness, he's gone up the street. His voice doesn't sound so loud 
now. 

Grace. But I can't hear it at all. 

Henry. All the better. 

Grace. You were saying before the interruption 

Henry. Allow me to pose you properly. (Leads her to chair 
before camera) Now then — (There is a sound behind the 
screen, which moves slightly) 

Grace. What was that? 

Henry. What? 

Grace. That sound. 

Henry. Oh, that's only my dog. I have him chained up in 
the other room. 

Grace. But I distinctly saw the screen move. 

Henry. Er — yes. So it did. The dog did that. 

Grace. But how could the dog do that? 

Henry. He must have struck it with his tail. He's the 
funniest dog. He wags his tail all the time. I remember 
once 

Grace. But will you please tell me how the dog could move 
the screen when he is in the other room? 

Henry (nervously). Er — that is — did I say he was in the 
other room? 

Grace. Yes. 

Henry (laughs to conceal his embarrassment) . Now, wasn't 
that funny of me? I must have misspoken. He isn't in the 
other room; he's behind the screen. 

Grace. Oh, I just adore dogs. What is he? 

Henry. Oh — he isn't much of a dog — that is, to look at. 
He's just a kind of a mongrel, with a hang-dog look. He's a 
mild old fellow. 

Grace (goes toward screen). Oh, do let me see him; he 
must be a dear. 

Henry (obstructing her). Oh, you mustn't see him. He's 
awful ferocious. That's why I keep him chained up. 

Grace. Ferocious? (Henry nods) Why, you just said he 
was mild. 

Henry. Mild? Mild? Are you sure I said mild? 

Grace. Positive. 

Henry. Oh, I couldn't have said " mild." Excuse me, but 
I am sure that wasn't the word. What was it I said now? 
Let me think. Ah! I have it. I said wild. That was it 
Isn't it funny you should have misunderstood me. He's a wild 



Till 3 P.M. 9 

old fellow. Sometimes he growls something fierce. (Jack, 
behind screen, growls fiercely) 

Gbace (runs l.). Oh, dear, what a frightful beast! Will it 
get loose? 

Henry (b.). Oh, no. I have him chained fast. (Goes to 
screen) Be quiet there, Rover. (Kicks screen) 

Jack (behind screen). Ouch! 

Gbace. Why, the voice sounded almost human, poor fellow! 

Henry. Yes ; that's the funniest thing about Flossie — I mean, 
Rover — he's almost human, but not quite. 

Gbace. Do you think he will be quiet now? 

Henby. I think so. If he isn't I'll have to throw a pail 
of water over at him. (Screen wobbles) 

Gbace. There, the screen moved again. He heard what you 
said. Do you think he understood? 

Henby. He understood all right. I will settle with Rover 
after this good and plenty. 

Gbace. We are not getting on very well with my picture. 
What time is it, please? 

Henby (looks at watch). Ten minutes to three. Holy 
smoke ! Oh, excuse me, please. You see, I have another engage- 
ment at three and must be through by then. Please take your 
seat and we will hurry. 

Gbace. Yes. Mother doesn't know where I am. (Sits as 
before) 

Henby. Now, then, don't look at the camera. No ; not so far 

around. That's better. Now then (Ducks under the cloth) 

No, that won't do. Your skirt doesn't hang right. 

Grace. What's the matter with it? 

Henby. The folds must be more artistic. Here, let me fix it. 
(Kneels before her and arranges the folds of her skirt; remains 
kneeling; suddenly) Miss Allison, Grace, I can't wait an- 
other minute to 

Gbace (drawing back). Is that the usual way to pose a 
subject? 

Henby. Yes, oh, yes, in these modern times. Everything 
depends on the expression. I want you to look your loveliest; 
then the picture will be divine. 

Gbace. Dear me! I don't understand. Please get up. 
(Henby rises; goes back to camera with a sigh) 

Henby. Now then (Groans can be heard emanating 

from behind the screen) 

Grace (rising in alarm). What was that? 



10 Till 3 P.M. 

Henry. That's my poor old uncle in the other room. He 
has rheumatism, and suffers terribly. 

Gbace. But the sounds came from behind the screen. 

Henry. But they couldn't. Dogs don't have rheumatism, — 
that is, young dogs, — and that pup of mine 

Grace. I am sure, Mr. Werken, that I don't understand 
you at all. You don't look or act like any photographer I 
know. Your room doesn't look like a studio. Queer things are 
happening here all the time, and you explain them preposter- 
ously. I demand an explanation. 

Henry. I assure you, Miss Allison 

Grace. I don't believe you are a photographer. You have 
simply tricked me into coming here for your own evil pur- 
poses. 

Henry. But I assure you 

Grace. You have done everything you could to delay me. 
You have a confederate behind that screen. Let me go. 

Henry (obstructing her). Oh, please, please, don't go. I 
will explain everything. I love you, Grace 

Grace (indignantly). Mr. Werken 



Henry. Don't stop me. I have loved you ever since 

Grace. How dare you, sir? 

Jack (behind screen). Three minutes to three. 

Grace. That was a man's voice. 

Henry (desperately). It's our town crier announcing the 
time in Union Square. 

Grace. Lies, lies, lies! Nothing but lies! There's a man 
behind the screen and I am going to see who it is. 

Henry. Please, please don't. As you love me (Grace 

gives Henry a violent push; then throws the screen to the 
floor) 

Grace (steps back). Mr. Spencer! (Henry sinks into 
chair r.) 

Jack (steps out). I assure you, Miss Allison, that it's all 
a joke. This gentleman 

Grace (icitheringly) . Gentleman! I don't care to know 
anything about him. He's a fraud and a cheat. He's be- 
neath my notice. But you, Mr. Spencer — I am surprised to 
find you assisting him. My fiance shall know of this. 

Jack. Your fiance? 

Henry (mournfully) . Her fiance? 

Grace. I am engaged to marry Albert Hamilton of Los 
Angeles. I wanted a photo for him; else I should never have 



Till 3 P.M. 11 

come here to be insulted by that. (Indicates Henry disdain- 
fully) Good afternoon! 
Henry (jumps up). Er — er — er — er (Ends in a gurgle) 
Grace. Good afternoon ! [EXIT haughtily d. r. c. 

Jack (Henry looks at Jack, and Jack looks at Henry; then 

Jack pulls out his watch). Well, old man (A cuckoo clock 

off r. breaks in with, — Cuckoo ! cuckoo ! cuckoo ! Henry sinks 
into a chair) 

THE CURTAIN FALLS. 

NOTE. — If it is impossible to obtain a cuckoo clock, an ordi- 
nary clock may strike 1 — 2 — 3 just before the final curtain. It 
is the humble opinion of the writer, however, that a cuckoo 
clock's sounding Henry's defeat will strike an audience as ir- 
resistibly funny. 



NEW PLAYS 



PEREGRINATIONS OF POLLY, The. : 5 C?ntg. A comedietta 
In i act, by Helen P. Kane. 3 female characters. 1 plain interior scene. Time, 
about 45 minutes.^ Polly and Margaret, bachelor maids, being invited to attend a 
musicale, determine to exchange escorts. The result may not have been such as was 
intended, but certainly was one to have been expected. The dialogue throughout is 
brilliant and snappy, the action quick, thus ensuring a success for this bright sketch. 

RELATIONS* 15 cents. A farcical skit in i act, by George M. Rosener. 
3 male, i female character. i interior scene. Time, about 20 minutes. An inimit- 
able sketch full of rapid repartee and rollicking 4i situations." Billie is a whole team 
in himself ; his uncle and brother-in-law force the fun, but Billie comes out on top. 
The action is unflagging and irresistibly funny. 

RAPS* 15 cents. A vaudeville sketch in 1 act, by Eleanor Maud Crane. 
• male characters. 1 interior scene. Time, about 30 minutes. An exceedingly bright 
dialogue between an Irish carpenter and a slightly intoxicated gilded youth. Full of 
"patter" and "get backs." 

WARDROBE OF THE KING, The* i S cents, a burlesque in 

1 act, by William J. McKiernan. 7 male, x female (played by male) character. 
1 exterior scene. Time, 1 hour. Costumes grotesque and fantastic. An amusing bur- 
lesque for boys, easily produced, full of bright situations, and sure to make a hit. The 
play may be staged very simply, or made as elaborate as the producer sees fit. Be- 
sides the eight speaking parts, the company of officers, suite of the King and Queen, 
etc., may utilize any number of persons. By the introduction of specialties the time 
of the play can be considerably lengthened. 

ROYAL CINCH* A* 25 cents. A farce comedy in 3 acts, by Frank 
H. Bernard. 2 male, 3 female characters. 1 interior, 1 exterior scene. Time, i}£ 
hours. A fantastic comedy, simple in plot, but cunningly contrived and cumulative 
in its development. The darkey waiter and the pert housemaid are surpassingly 
comical parts. 

HOOSIER SCHOOL, The. 15 cents. A farcical sketch in 1 act, by 
William and Josephine Giles. 5 males, 5 females, 4 of whom can be boys and 4 girls. 
I interior scene. Time, about 30 minutes. A realistic picture of a district school 
in a small Western village. The rough and ready teacher and his tricky scholars keep 
the audience in a roar. The teacher is finally squelched by the irate mother of one 
of his pupils. The piece is cleverly worked out and full of funny incidents. 

SCRUBTOWN SEWING CIRCLE'S THANKSGIVING, The. 

15 cents. An old ladies' sociable, by Maude L. Hall. 6 female characters. 1 in- 
terior scene. Time, 35 minutes. A characteristic entertainment in which, among 
other interesting incidents, each of the old ladies gives her reasons for thankfulness. 
An all star study of character with an unusual send off. 

DOLLY'S DOUBLE* 1 5 cents. A musical vaudeville sketch in i act, 
by Charles Stuart, i male and i female character assuming two parts. i interior 
scene. Time, 20 minutes. An exceedingly humorous conception, bright, catchy 
and original, leading through several stages to a clever climax. 

JOHN'S EMMY* 1 5 cents. A vaudeville sketch in one act, by Charles 
Stuart, i male, i female character, i interior scene. Time, about 20 minutes. A 
methodical old bookworm awaits a young girl who is to be his ward. An entirely 
different girl arrives, who summarily subjugates him. The action is rapid, crisp, and 
full of comicalities. A capital character study for both performers. 

TOM COBB J or Fortune's Toy. 1 5 cents. Farcical comedy in 3 
acts, by W. S. Gilbert. 6 male, 4 female characters. Time, \% hours. Modern 
costumes. Tom Cobb, at the instigation of his friend, Whipple, pretends to be dead 
in order to escape his creditors. He makes a will and leaves everything to Matilda, 
daughter of Col. O y Fipp, in whose house he has been lodging. Tom is unexpectedly 
left a fortune, which is taken possession of by the Colonel, and Tom has great difficulty 
in recovering it. 





MILITARY PLAYS 

25 CENTS EACH 

M. F. 

BY THE ENEMY'S HAND. 4 Acts; 2 hours 10 4 

EDWARDS, THE SPY. 5 Acts; 2^ hours 10 4 

PRISONER OF ANDERSON VILLE. 4 Acts; 2^ hours.. 10 4 

CAPTAIN DICK. 3 Acts; 1^ hours 9 6 

ISABEL,, THE PEARL, OF CUBA. 4 Acts; 2 hours 9 3 

LITTLE SAVAGE. 3 Acts; 2 hours; 1 Stage Setting 4 4 

BY FORCE OP IMPULSE. (15 cents.) 5 Acts; 2^ hours 9 3 

BETWEEN TWO FIRES. (15 cents.) 3 Acts; 2 hours 8 3 



RURAL PLAYS 

25 CENTS EACH 

MAN FROM MAINE. 5 Acts; 2% hours 9 3 

AMONG THE BERKSHIRES. 3Acts; 2^hours.„ 8 4 

OAK FARM. 3 Acts; 2±£ hours; 1 Stage Setting 7 4 

GREAT WINTERSON MINE. 3Acts;2hours 6 4 

SQUIRE THOMPKINS' DAUGHTER. 5 Acts; 2^ hours 5 2 

WHEN A MAN'S SINGLE. 3Acts;2hours 4 4 

FROM PUNKIN RIDGE. (15 cents.) lAct; lhour... 6 3 

LETTER FROM HOME. (15 cents.) 1 Act; 25 minutes 1 1 



ENTERTAINMENTS 

25 CENTS EACH 

AUNT DINAH'S QUILTING PARTY. 1 Scene. 5 ~ 

BACHELOR MAIDS' REUNION. 1 Scene 4 30 

IN THE FERRY HOUSE. 1 Scene; 1^ hours 19 15 

JAPANESE WEDDING; . 1 Scene; lhour 3 10 

MATRIMONIAL, EXCHANGE . 2 Acts ; 2 horn s 6 9 

OLD PLANTATION NIGHT. 1 Scene; 1^ hours 4 4 

YE VILLAGE SKEWL OF LONG AGO. 1 Scene. 13 12 

FAMILIAR FACES OF A FUNNY FAMILY 8 11 

JO LL Y B ACHE LORS . Motion Song or Recitation 11 

CHRISTMAS MEDLEY. 30 minutes 15 14 

EASTER TIDINGS. 20 minutes 8 

BUNCH OF ROSES. (15 cents.) 1 Act; 1^ hours 1 13 

OVER THE GARDEN TV ALL. (15 cents) 11 8 



WCTWW$WW$W«W»WW«WWWW^ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




COMEDIES AND 

25 CENTS Ei 



BREAKING HIS BONDS. 4 Acts; 

BUTTERNUT'S BRIDE. 3 Acts; 2] 016 103 801 5< 

COLLEGE CHUMS. 3 Acts; 2 hours; 1 Stage Setting 9 

COUNT OP NO ACCOUNT. 3 Acts; 2^ hours 9 4 

DEACON. 5 Acts; 2^ hours 8 6 

DELEGATES FROM DENVER. 2 Acts; 45 minutes 3 10 

DOCTOR BY COURTESY. 3Acts;2hours 6 5 

EASTSIDERS, The. 3 Acts; 2 hours; 1 Stage Setting 8 4 

ESCAPED FROM THE LAW. 5 Acts; 2 hours 7 4 

GIRL, FROM PORTO RICO. 3 Acts; 2^ hours 5 3 

GYPSY QUEEN. 4 Acts; 2\i hours 5 3 

IN THE ABSENCE OF SUSAN. 3 Acts; 1}4 hours 4 6 

JAILBIRD. 5 Acts; 2% hours 6 3 

JOSIAH'S COURTSHIP. 4Acts;2hours 7 4 

MY LADY DARRELL. 4 Acts; 2)4 hours 9 6 

MY UNCLE FROM INDIA. 4 Acts; 2% hours..... 13 4 

NEXT DOOR. 3 Acts; 2 hours 5 4 

PHYLLIS'S INHERITANCE. 3Acts; 2hours 6 9 

REGULAR FLIRT. 3 Acts; 2 hours 4 4 

ROGUE'S LUCK. 3Acts;2hours 5 3 

SQUIRE'S STRATAGEM. 5 Acts; 2^ hours 6 4 

STEEL KING. 4 Acts; 2^ hours 5 3 

WHAT'S NEXT? 3 Acts; 2% hours 7 4 

WHITE LIE. 4 Acts; 2J4 hours 4 3 

WESTERN PLAYS 

25 CENTS EACH 

ROCKY FORD. 4Acts;2hours 8 3 

GOLDEN'GULCH. 3 Acts; 2^ hours 11 3 

RED ROSETTE. 3Acts;2hours 6 3 

MISS MOSHER OF COLORADO. 4 Acts; 2% hours .... 5 3 

STUBBORN MOTOR CAR. 3 Acts; 2 hours; 1 Stage Setting 7 4 

CRAWFORD'S CLAIM. (15 cents.) 3 Acts; 2*4 hours. 9 3 



DICK & FITZGERALD, Publishers, 18 Ann Street, N. Y. 



